


Finding Love (or Not At All)

by shichan_unedited (shinchansgirl)



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Author Does Not Know How To Tag, Complete, F/M, Lime, M/M, One Shot, minor language warning, one-sided Peeta Mellark/Katniss Everdeen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 00:17:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7991617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinchansgirl/pseuds/shichan_unedited
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peeta is selected alongside Katniss to participate in the 74th annual Hunger Games. He doesn't expect to survive the Games, but he's hoping that (with a little bit of luck) he can help Katniss to win. Too bad the GameMakers are getting in the way of that...</p>
<p>Cato finds the (not so) little baker boy from 12 interesting. For once, a tribute from the coal-mining district is halfway capable of surviving. With just a little motivation, he could make a decent ally...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Love (or Not At All)

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for the summary. I really had no idea how to summarize this one-shot.

“Eat up, now, eat up!” Effie gushed. “You need a good, strong breakfast before your tests!”

Katniss glared at her while Peeta grabbed a pancake. Every year two tributes were selected from each district to participate in a deadly event known as the “Hunger Games”. This year Katniss and Peeta were the tributes from District 12, a district which was primarily concerned with mining coal. Effie was essentially their guide in the Capitol, which ruled over the districts and hosted the Games. The Capitol never had to sacrifice any tributes for the Games, and was full of people who lived off of the successes of others. It was a city of partying, gambling, and things the two tributes from 12 couldn’t hope to understand. 

“What kind of test is it this year?” Katniss asked Haymitch. “You must know something.” Haymitch was their mentor, a previous victor from their own district who was supposed to help them survive the Arena where the Games were held. While they were supposed to have a mentor each, District 12 was a poor district and had only had one victor in all the years the Games had been in place. Haymitch was a drunk, having almost given up on having another tribute from 12 survive. This year Katniss’ startling announcement that she volunteered as tribute in place of her younger sister had given him enough hope for one last push. Before the tributes arrived at the Arena, however, there were first activities at the Capitol which needed to happen. The tributes would like to focus mainly on training, of course, but there was also the interviews, the photo shoots, the parades, the displays, the dance - and, of course, the tests. Since a good deal of the Games were displayed for everyone, including portions of the tests, the tests were changed every year so the tributes wouldn’t have an advantage over tributes from previous years.

“That’s a tightly kept secret, sweetheart,” Haymitch replied, taking a drink from his flask. Peeta hoped it wasn’t more alcohol; he was trying to break Haymitch of that habit for the brief amount of time they were in the Capitol. He’d told Haymitch he could drink as much as he wanted  _ after _ the Games were over. “Your partners for the tests are too, technically.”

“Our partners?” Peeta asked, swallowing a small bite. The food here was richer than anything he’d eaten back home. While he had worked hard as a baker for both his family and his district, he rarely got the chance to eat the food he made. Most times all his family could afford to eat were the hard crusts and stale scraps that wouldn’t sell. He shook off the thoughts of home and asked: “Aren’t we paired with the other tribute from our district?”

“Usually, yes,” Haymitch said, “but not always. And it’s the year before the quarter quell; the gamemakers will want to stir things up. Don’t count on anything being the way it  _ usually _ is.” The Quarter Quell was the name for the anniversary that happened every 25 years. The first Quarter Quell had happened 49 years ago. The next year would be the 75th annual Hunger Games.

“So we may not be paired together,” Katniss said. Peeta turned to look at her, but couldn’t quite place her tone, and her body language was hard to read. It wasn’t happy, but it wasn’t disappointed either. More like she was simply stating a fact.

“They did it once, five years ago,” Haymitch reminded them, “and for about five years in a row after the last quarter quell. A few times the crowds liked the pairing so much the King and Queen of the tribute ball were from different districts. Remember the paired exams are aired for the Capitol. They only show clips to the districts, but the citizens of the Capitol can see the entire paired exam. The only exams kept for the judges’ eyes only are the two individual tests.” While the tributes would face life and death situations in the Arena - literal kill or be killed situations - for the Capitol the Games were the highest form of entertainment.

“Did they ever both survive?” Peeta asked, his mind flying through possibilities. He’d never heard of anyone from 12 being named King or Queen of the ball, but it had to be possible. “When the King and Queen were from different districts, I mean.”

“You know it’s rare even when they’re from the same district,” Haymitch snorted. “I guess technically it’s possible, if the pairing was right, but it’s a one in a million chance.”

“What are you thinking?” Katniss asked, and Peeta hesitated. Her tone felt off – pushy, a bit curious, but there was still something there. They’d already had their initial interviews where he had confessed he was in love with Katniss. He really was, too; they’d gone to school together, and he’d known of her since she was five. He’d never had the chance to really talk to each other, though, and he’d only really interacted with her once. It made her hard to read. Had she hated the idea that much?

“Well, we did make quite an entrance,” Peeta finally said, trying not to sound hurt. They wouldn’t understand his leaps of logic; his own family rarely did. “The idea of the burning coals for our outfits was a bigger hit than the coal miner suits have ever been. And the interviews weren’t that bad either. If Katniss can get high enough marks in the paired test and the demonstration, she could be selected for the queen – especially if my marks are considerably lower.”

“Why would your marks make a difference?” Katniss asked, looking between Peeta and Haymitch.

“It makes you stand out. Shows you have better skills than I do, and the previous tributes from twelve,” Peeta told her. “It makes you seem like you’re one of them - elite - if you’re different from everyone else in your district.”

“You can’t go too low, though,” Haymitch cut in, speaking to Peeta. “We still need sponsors for you, and the star-crossed lovers idea will only work if you both have a shot. Plus, if you’re too low they’ll start whispering that you’ve already given up. That loses us sponsors for anyone in District 12. Not just you.”

Peeta nodded. “I can try to aim for middle ground,” he said. “Katniss already has the best chance to be victor, between the two of us, but she’ll have a better chance if she’s selected as queen at the ball and a career tribute is chosen as the king,” Peeta said. He looked at Katniss and gave her the obvious out. “You don’t have to pretend you’re in love with me, this way, and you’ll have a strong ally.”

“You shouldn’t call them careers,” Katniss muttered, looking away. Peeta somewhat hoped the conversation had made her uncomfortable; he wasn’t acting when he said he was in love. “Not here. Not now.”

“I’m still in love with you. That doesn’t change. But the king and queen are the only two tributes who don’t have to kill each other,” Peeta said, ignoring her comment. She was rebelling against the idea of being in love with him, and it would never work if his love was one-sided. To give her the best chance, he had to find a way to support her. “You’ll have an automatic ally, someone who’s stronger than me and has grown up with stories of how to win. Your chances of winning will increase.”

“Let’s go, then,” Katniss said, throwing her fork down. She was tired of talking about love and balls and allies. What did love matter in the Arena? “Let’s do this.”

Peeta hadn’t finished his breakfast, but he still put down his fork and stood with her to leave. There was no point in delaying; he’d lost his appetite.

* * *

Katniss scowled as she passed Peeta on her way out of the exam room. She had been the first of the pair of them called back, and her partner had been the boy from district five. Once the paired test was over, the individual tests began. Each tribute would know what one other tribute had done for their individual test unless they started talking to each other. It was common to share knowledge with your district partner and your allies, and since the partners were typically your district partner conflicts remained minimal. But Haymitch had been right: this year the gamemakers had chosen to change things up.

Katniss must have failed horribly, Peeta thought. Otherwise she wouldn’t look so angry.

“District Twelve male, Peeta Mellark,” the guard at the entrance said. Warily, Peeta stood. He’d missed his partner’s name, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out the District Two male tribute – Cato something – was his partner for the test.

“Don’t screw up,” the other male hissed as they were led into the exam room.

Peeta scowled. “I’m not a deadweight,” he bit back as they stopped before another door.

“The exam is simple,” the guard said. “Choose one weapon each. The door will open and you have five minutes to exit the door on the other side. If you both get through the door, you will receive an advantage for the arena after the individual demonstrations.”

Peeta took a deep breath and looked at the weapons. Swords, bows, crossbows, and weapons he didn’t know the name for. The advantage was worth passing the test if at all possible. It was usually something simple to help tributes prepare. One year passing teams saw the words “a desert”, and another year a spoken warning “don’t drink the water”. He needed that advantage. He chose the only weapon he had used for practice in the two days they’d been at the capital: a sword.

Cato chose a sword as well, a longer one with a good deal of weight. Then they faced the door.

It opened, and Peeta’s focus narrowed to all the things snarling at them. It was a nest of creatures who were fighting each other just as much as they were attacking himself and Cato. He kept his feet moving forward and his sword swinging as hard as he could swing it. The attacks seemed to last forever and he thought the five minutes must have passed – they must have failed. But it kept going. Something that looked like a monkey tried to take a bite out of his thigh and Peeta skewered it. Then he heard Cato swear.

He looked toward the other tribute and saw him beating on the closed exit door. They had made it to the other end of the hall, but the door had suddenly closed when they approached.

Something green and covered in scales bit his ankle while he was distracted, and Peeta cried out. He swiped down, killing the creature, and backed to the door so he was side by side with the other tribute.

“Why won’t it open?” Cato growled, almost shouting.

Peeta looked at the door, then cursed as something jumped up and bit his wrist. He flung his hand against the door and the creature let go in a daze.

But his dominant hand now had a broken wrist and his sword clattered to the ground.

The creatures were thinner now. Between himself and Cato they had killed enough of them to keep the smarter ones at bay. But now Peeta was defenseless.

“Can you watch my back while I figure out the door?” Peeta asked, glancing at the other tribute.

The brute looked mad, and half ready to slice Peeta’s throat rather than defend him.

“If we don’t  _ both  _ get through we fail,” Peeta reminded him. “And we certainly can’t beat the thing open.”

Cato hesitated a moment more, but finally nodded, his gaze focusing on the creatures.

Peeta turned to the door and hoped he was doing the right thing. He started scanning the door, looking for any loose pieces of metal that might indicate a handle, or any place a key might go. He found nothing. The door was stylized with some sort of artistic print, and when he brushed his hand against one of the paint flecks it moved like an image of a leaf.

Cato suddenly backed into him, slamming Peeta against the wall and squeezing him between the door and Cato’s body, and for a moment Peeta couldn’t breathe. Then Cato was back to fighting the monsters.

But Peeta understood now. The art had fluttered when he pressed against it. Moved with him. It was a puzzle. He just had to get all the pieces in the right spot. He focused on the designs, moving them along the door like some sort of digital display until the design looked like a piece of art, the edges of the door a stylized frame around the words “May the Odds be Ever in Your Favor”. The door glowed for a moment before clicking open.

Peeta shoved it open and reached behind him, pulling Cato through and then shoving the door shut on a snarling, drooling animal.

His broken wrist ached. He panted, all his weight on one leg as his ankle reminded him it was hurt, too, and bleeding. He turned to see what was in the room when Cato grunted behind him.

It was an open room like their training room. It appeared to be an exact duplicate. There was a stage full of citizens of the capital eating and drinking and laughing. Peeta recognized Seneca Crane, the lead gamemaker and the one who designed the Arena.

“The male tribute from District Two,” came the announcement. No name was given.

Peeta could only stare in amazement as Cato made short work of all the weapons stations.  _ All _ of them. The judges watched, and seemed suitably impressed as they discussed something among themselves.

“The male tribute from District Twelve.”

Peeta paled as Cato stepped to the side. After the run through the previous hallway there was no way he could make a good impression. They had planned to show his strength, lifting weights and doing a short display with a sword, but he couldn’t lift anything with his broken wrist. Looking around he made a quick decision. The judges had already lost interest and there was really only one other talent he had. Ignoring the pain in his ankle he limped to the camouflage station, ducked out of view of the judges (though a few guards still watched), and made himself disappear.

“Time’s up, bring the tributes before us,” Seneca called out.

Cato stood before the judges’ panel stoically and waited for Peeta to make his appearance. He was, on the one hand, impressed by the other tribute’s ability to hide. On the other he was disgusted; there was no way the judges would  _ notice _ the other boy was gone because they had no interest in him.

After a moment the guards pulled Peeta out of the station, and Cato’s impression of his camouflage increased a few notches. Even out in the open parts of Peeta seemed to disappear.

“Our clue stays between us,” Cato hissed, pulling the other tribute to his feet when Peeta’s ankle protested against the weight. “Tell anyone and you’ll be the first I kill.”

Peeta tried to ignore him and faced the judges.

“You will have a second individual demonstration the day before the games begin,” Seneca said. “That demonstration will be in one week’s time. Until then you must prepare yourselves with only this clue: it is a forest.”

Cato’s hand gripped Peeta’s arm tightly, and Peeta let out a small sound at the painful hold. Cato moved them both into a bow before pulling Peeta behind him to the exit. “That hurts,” Peeta protested as he tried to keep up with the other tribute’s pace.

“If I could, I’d lock you in my room and never let you out,” Cato growled as they exited the room. They passed the waiting tributes as they passed the holding area, most of which looked at Peeta in shock. He was the first to come back with any serious wounds. Even Katniss and the boy from five had exited fairly unharmed. He was also the first to come back slathered in paint, he realized. He was a mess, and needed a shower to clean up. “Unfortunately, that’s not an option.”

“I won’t say anything,” Peeta huffed out finally when they got to the elevators, trying to brush some of the paint off and hide his embarrassment at being dragged around like a child who had fallen in the mud. It felt like it should be evening, but it wasn’t even time for lunch. And he  _ hurt _ . And he felt awful after his individual test. He felt dirty. Now he knew why the others had been unharmed: they hadn’t been willing to sacrifice the individual test for the advantage. Peeta hadn’t even thought about it, and his individual test had suffered greatly. And now he had Cato feeling threatened by what Peeta knew. “Who would I tell? Katniss probably got the clue herself, and she wouldn’t listen to me anyways,” he tried to reassure the angry tribute.

Cato raised an eyebrow, pushing the stop button on the elevator and crowding into Peeta’s space. “She’s your district partner. Why wouldn’t she listen?”

Peeta rolled his eyes. “You think she’d believe we made it through when she didn’t?”

“I thought you two were an  _ item _ .”

Peeta looked away. He was highly aware that there might be cameras on them in the elevator and already trying to think three steps ahead. If they were watching, they’d want a show; if they were watching, he could create opportunities to embellish their story. “Just because I love her doesn’t mean she loves me.”

There – if they played it – sympathy for himself and an opening for Katniss to be paired with someone from another district. He would make his plan work. Katniss would be victor. He didn’t want to be victor; if he was victor he’d end up like Haymitch: drunk and alone. Or maybe drunk and with Haymitch, which was almost as bad as being alone. Katniss had her family still. Peeta’s had all but abandoned him when he was chosen for the Arena. They had known he wouldn’t survive.

Cato pushed away and started the elevator again, then stormed out on the second floor. Breathing a sigh of relief, Peeta hit the button for his floor - the top floor - and let the elevator take him up. Hopefully Effie would be able to get him treated well enough he could still train. If he did well enough in the final individual exam it could make up for his poor performance in the first.

* * *

“He’s watching you,” Katniss warned. Now that the morning demonstrations were over and they’d eaten lunch - and, in Peeta’s case, showered - the tributes were once again training. Katniss and Peeta were at one of the survival stations trying to start a fire, and Peeta had his back to the room. It was the only way, really; Katniss insisted on facing the room and Peeta couldn’t train at the weapons stations with his wrist braced. They’d set the bones in his wrist and given him something to help it heal quickly, but it wouldn’t be ready for him to use before tomorrow afternoon. The ankle they’d treated had been well enough to hold his weight easily an hour after they were done.

“Ignore it,” Peeta told her. “He’s probably just curious why you’re helping me. You don’t have a broken wrist keeping you from weapons training.”

Katniss shook her head and Peeta focused on the fire again while she watched the competition. Soon enough he managed to get a small flame sputtering to life, and then an actual fire.

“And all with one hand,” Cato said from just behind his shoulder, and Peeta winced at how close the other tribute was. He looked up to glare at Katniss only to find she had left him alone.

“What do you want?” Peeta asked, trying not to be hostile. When had Katniss left? Why hadn’t she warned him? “I already told you I wouldn’t say anything about our tests.”

“Just checking out the competition,” Cato remarked, and movement on his other side told Peeta Cato’s district partner had come up to corner him. When he stood he realized he had been boxed in; the tributes from district one were behind him.

“I didn’t realize I was of interest,” Peeta said calmly, trying not to panic.

The male from district one snorted. “Everyone’s of interest, in case you haven’t noticed,” he said. “If we’re to win, everyone else has to die.”

“I’m aware of the rules of the game, one,” Peeta said sternly. “I’m also aware tributes from district twelve don’t usually get this much attention from other districts. If you’re looking for information on Katniss, I won’t give it to you.”

“Are you that much in love with her, lover-boy?” the female from two asked. “It was so moving the way you confessed at the interview. You should have seen her face!”

Cato rolled his eyes. “What do you do in twelve?” he asked.

“I thought that was well-known,” Peeta answered slowly. “Twelve is the coal-mining district.”

“Yes, but you don’t have the same grimy hands as the previous miner boys,” the girl from one said. “My mentor mentioned it; said you and the girl on fire were too clean for miners.”

Peeta hesitated, searching for Katniss, but couldn’t see her at the other stations. That meant she was probably at one of the few which needed space on the other side of the training room. “I am a baker,” Peeta finally said. “I don’t know about Katniss, but her mother is a healer.”

Cato raised an eyebrow at the term, but instead said: “You’re a baker named Peeta?”

Peeta rolled his eyes. “I’ve heard enough ‘Peeta makes pita bread’ jokes already. It stopped being funny a long time ago. If you’re done, I’d like to go to the next station and actually  _ train _ .”

Cato eyed him up and down, then moved away. “Come with us.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so,” Cato said.

Peeta really wished that wasn’t a good enough reason to follow; unfortunately for him, it really was.

* * *

The tributes were all dressed up in fancy clothes again, mingling in the ballroom with potential sponsors. The Tribute Ball two days before the games began was the only chance tributes had to actually talk to potential sponsors face-to-face. Most of the time their mentors would do this sort of thing, but the highest-paying sponsors were at the ball and wanted the chance to talk to the tributes they might put their money on.

Peeta likened it to examining dogs before making a purchase. He half expected some of the capital citizens to ask to see his teeth, or ask him to strip down so they could see what all he had to offer. One already had taken his hands and inspected them, commenting on the fine work which had been done to clean them up. Another had shown a fondness for touching his hair and wondering that he didn’t dye it white to match his outfit.

“I look ridiculous,” Katniss muttered, gripping Peeta’s arm lightly and holding her head high.

“It’s Capital fashion,” Peeta said. “Cinna said it made you look like a Queen, remember?” Cinna was Katniss’ stylist, who chose her dresses (and made them) and styled her hair.

“Then why are you in all white?”

Peeta had to admit it was strange. His own stylist, Portia, had insisted he wear an all-white tuxedo and had been giggling the entire time. He knew his stylist had known something he didn’t, but he hadn’t pressed. They weren’t allowed to tell the tributes anything they learned in advance; they were only given enough information to design an appropriate outfit. “I don’t know. We should try to talk to the sponsors a bit more. Look – I think that one might want to dance with you.”

“I’ll end up stepping on his feet. Dance lessons weren’t something we learned.”

“Just let him lead,” Peeta hissed, pushing her in the direction of the sponsor who had been eying her.

Peeta himself had his way to the edges of the crowd to make small talk with the sponsors there. They would be less influential than the ones on the dance floor, he knew, but they wouldn’t ask him to dance – and unlike Katniss he would be expected to take the lead in a dance he didn’t know how to do.

Katniss found her way to him from time to time, but being a female tribute many of the male sponsors wanted to dance with her. Thankfully Peeta was saved from that; the female sponsors were mostly staring at him and giggling, or trying to touch him. He didn’t understand it, but at least he wasn’t stepping on their feet. Finally the clock struck midnight and Seneca Crane made his way to the podium to announce the King and Queen of the tribute ball. “Ladies and Gentlemen!” he called out. Peeta glanced around quickly and saw Katniss heading towards him again. He shifted to try and meet her halfway, but the crowd boxed him in. “I know you have waited a long time for this moment, and I must say I was quite surprised by the results. I hope you will be as charmed by our King and Queen as I was – they will make quite an interesting pair if they manage to win together, I assure you! I know traditionally we announce ladies first, but tonight I hope you won’t be disappointed to learn the King before the Queen. I don’t think there is any doubt in who our King is for this game. Ladies and Gentlemen, the King of the Tribute Ball: Cato Hadley.”

There was clapping and wolf whistles as Cato made his way to the stage, an arrogant smile on his face. Katniss had made it to Peeta’s side again, and she whispered over her shoulder to Peeta: “He looks like he  _ expected _ to be King.”

“He probably did,” Peeta answered. Cato had gone through the training stations like they were nothing. Peeta half expected him to be victor.

Caesar was at the podium now, calming the crowd down. “Now, now, everyone. I know this is exciting – isn’t this exciting? – but we only have time for a few short questions before the Queen is announced. Now, tell us Cato: how does it feel to be the King of the Ball?”

“Well I hope it feels like being the Victor will feel,” Cato said. “Because this feels great.”

“Well you do have some of the best odds,” Caesar said, winking at the crowd. “Who do you hope your queen will be?”

Cato shrugged. “I can only hope someone I’ve trained with, so we have a chance of knowing each other’s skills and strengths. That would give us the best chance in the Games.”

“A very logical answer,” Caesar said, nodding his head along. “But let’s not keep the crowd waiting, Seneca! Tell us who is Queen!”

Seneca gathered himself up and took his place again at the podium. “While this choice is a bit unusual, the votes have been tallied and double checked. I hope you both shocked and pleased at the result. Ladies and gentlemen, let me present our first  _ male _ Queen: Peeta Mellark!”

Peeta wasn’t sure if he was completely red in the face or if the blood had been sucked out of him. The sponsors in the room – he couldn’t even remember their names anymore – pushed him forward and pulled him through the crowd until he was at the stage and standing at Cato’s side not really sure how he’d gotten there. He felt the crown put on his head, but he wasn’t quite sure what to do. All his plans were a mess now; he had never planned on a male having a shot at being the Queen. He’d hoped Katniss would be!

“Peeta, are you alright?” Caesar was asking him.

“I think so,” Peeta said. “I just – I can’t really believe I’m up here.”

“Look at that, everyone! We’ve stunned a tribute!” There was laughter and clapping in the crowd, which had suddenly become quite a bit larger than Peeta remembered. Had there always been so many people in the room?

“You and Cato were paired together for your first evaluations when you arrived, weren’t you?” Caesar asked, prodding Peeta into talking.

“Yes,” Peeta said. “We were. I think I know a bit about his abilities from that, but a lot can change with a week of training.”

“I’ve been watching Peeta since that day, and training with him a bit,” Cato cut in. “He can get a bit too focused sometimes and forget what’s around him, but he’s decent with a sword and he’s  _ really good _ at some of the survival tricks. We’d make a decent pair in the Arena.”

Peeta blushed at the compliment, unused to praise from almost-strangers and unprepared for the entire situation. If it had been Caesar he knew he could have easily laughed it off, but he was already feeling so off kilter.

“Aww, look, so adorable!” Caesar said.

Which only served to make Peeta’s blush deepen.

“Is there anything else you’d like to tell our audience before the King and Queen dance?” Caesar asked.

Peeta’s mind froze, half a dozen potential thoughts running through his head, and what came out of his mouth was: “Are you really sure I’m Queen?”

Laughter filled the hall again, good laughter which helped Peeta calm his racing heart instead of embarrassing him. He’d done his interview like that, joking around until he could confess, and getting the same reaction from the crowd now gave him that same confidence boost as before.

“We’re sure,” Caesar said, smiling. “The vote was a landslide after we watched the clips from your exam. The way Cato pulled you with him after the exams had half the Capital sure he was going to tie you to his bed!” Caesar winked at them, joking, but Cato’s arms wrapped around Peeta’s waist and the other tribute replied, completely serious:

“I would have if I could.”

“What are you doing,” Peeta hissed, slapping the hands that were a little too low on Peeta’s hips.

“Oh really now?” Caesar asked, sensing a juicy sensation for the audience like a shark smells blood. “You too seemed to be in quite a heated conversation there. Just what was Cato telling you, Peeta?”

The way the arms tightened in warning told Peeta he better say  _ exactly  _ the right thing or Cato might be tempted to rip his head off right then and there, despite the rules. “He-“ Peeta stuttered, blushed – now was the time to blush and play it up – and ducked his head a bit. “He said if he could he would lock me in his room,” Peeta said quietly. Then he looked up and raised his hands in front of him as if warding off any such thoughts. “But I’m sure that was just the adrenaline of the test and him not wanting anyone to know his skills. It was just strategy, not anything else.”

“Really now?” Caesar asked. “He’s got his arms around you like that and you think it was just  _ strategy _ ?”

Cato blew on Peeta’s ear, and Peeta winced a bit. “I’m sure some of it was adrenaline, as Peeta suggested,” Cato said. “But it wasn’t adrenaline and strategy. It was adrenaline and  _ lust _ . I wanted him in my room so I could have him. I usually get what I want, but he was going to be the one that got away. After all, tributes aren’t allowed to mingle in the rooms of the other districts and if I was to win then Peeta wouldn’t be around after the Games. I still can’t get him in my bed, but this is actually a really good chance for me, since it means we can get to know each other better.” Cato winked suggestively, putting half the audience in a swoon.

“Well then, let’s get you on the dance floor so you can show Peeta just how much fun you can be!” Caesar announced, then made a gesture to the band to start playing again as Cato dragged Peeta off the stage and down to the floor.

“You will not mess this up for me,” Cato growled in Peeta’s ear, pulling the other boy so they were flush against each other. Cato’s mouth was so close to Peeta’s ear Peeta could feel his lips moving.

“You think I planned on this?” Peeta hissed back, pushing a bit to try and get himself some space. “I’d hoped Katniss would be Queen!”

Cato snorted. “She outshone all the girls, but she didn’t pass the exam. Five was complaining they didn’t get the clue. They didn’t step out far enough on the floor to even get hurt, much less make it to the door. We were the  _ only _ pair that passed. That’s probably why President Snow allowed a male on the Queen’s ballot.”

Peeta winced as Cato bumped into him. “Katniss was pissed I couldn’t tell her anything. I had to tell her it was a rule of the game. Haymitch has been giving me funny looks for days because of that. And if you expect me to dance at all, you’ve got to give me more room.”

“It’s not about dancing right now,” Cato said, actually biting Peeta’s ear. “It’s about looking like we want to have sex right now on the floor so the sponsors will give a pile of donations just to see the happy couple survive the bloodbath.”

“You look like you’d rather  _ eat _ me.”

“Not much of a difference.”

Peeta glared at him, or as much as he could with how close they were. “I-“

“Do you want to die in two days?” Cato interrupted.

Peeta hesitated. In two days they would be in the Arena and fighting for their lives. Tomorrow was the final exam and photoshoot; their numbers and final odds would be posted by lunch, and the afternoon was supposed to be a time of rest. Then the following morning they would be in the arena and the games would begin. “I never expected to survive the games,” he finally said. “But I never planned on dying on the first day.”

“You better readjust your attitude,” Cato said. “Show up in the Arena planning to live to the end and I’ll consider you an ally. Otherwise you’re just another tribute for me to kill.”

That was a wrinkle in Peeta’s slowly forming plans. “You know the odds of a tribute from twelve surviving?” Peeta asked, huffing a bit. “I do. In all 75 years of the games, we’ve had one.  _ One _ . And that one was pure luck. The odds are  _ not _ in my favor. But that doesn’t mean I plan on going down without a fight. I don’t expect to live. I won’t plan on it. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try.”

“Good,” Cato said. “I don’t need dead weight following me around like a lost puppy. Now I suggest you shut that brain of yours down again.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t look happy, and if you lose the sponsors I worked hard to gain I’ll kill you anyways.”

Suddenly Cato’s hands were on Peeta’s rear and Peeta didn’t have to tell his brain to shut down. Cato did it for him. Peeta had never been kissed like that before, but he was sure anyone who could  _ think _ after that had no feelings whatsoever.

* * *

Apparently strings were pulled and a blind eye turned when the King wanted his Queen in his bed. “I should have known,” Peeta snorted as Cato hauled him through District Two’s floor and back to the bedroom. “There’s no such thing as rules for you, is there?”

Cato smirked. “Why should I bother following the rules when in a few days I’ll be victor and the rules won’t apply anymore?”

“You’re an arrogant, selfish, prick. You know that, right?”

Cato slammed Peeta against the wall again, liking the way the other tributes breath hitched a bit when he did, and reached for Peeta’s backside. “So long as you understand my prick’s going in your ass, and I’m going to win with or without you, I don’t see there being any problems.”

Peeta rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. Are you going to rut against the wall all night or are we actually going to make it to the bed? This would be more successful if we didn’t have clothes.”

Cato tore himself away and began dragging Peeta back to the room again. Peeta was glad his wrist had healed so quickly; there was no way it would be able to withstand Cato’s rough nature if it had to heal normally.

They didn’t kiss, at least not in Peeta’s mind. Rather, Cato was trying to suck Peeta’s tongue down his throat and Peeta responded by attempting to map Cato’s wisdom teeth with his tongue. It was brutal, and Peeta’s lips already felt bruised and swollen. Cato attempted to hurriedly rip Peeta’s shirt off, but Peeta pushed the other tribute’s hands aside. “I am  _ not _ walking back to my rooms with ripped clothes like some shameful slut just because you’re in a rush,” he growled. Cato nipped his jaw for that, but let Peeta undress himself.

Of course, Cato didn’t have the same care for his own clothes. Peeta attempted a glare when he heard buttons hit the floor. “Show off,” he muttered.

Cato grinned, then pressed his body against Peeta’s again until they collapsed on the bed.

* * *

Peeta pushed himself away from the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress and stretching.

“Leaving so soon?” Cato asked.

“I’d like to actually sleep before the games,” Peeta said, “and that’s not going to happen if I have someone else in bed with me.”

“That didn’t feel like your first time,” Cato mused. “You made a show of being in love with Katniss-“

“I am in love with Katniss,” Peeta said, smelling his shirt briefly before pulling it on.

“-but how many broken hearts did you leave behind in twelve?”

“None,” Peeta answered, pulling his pants up over his boxers while he shoved his feet in his shoes. “When your name’s in the lottery as many times as mine is, you typically decide you don’t want to die a virgin. It didn’t mean we wanted to spend our lives together. And I can’t help but notice that wasn’t your first time either,” Peeta smirked. “Are you so eager to win so you can get back to your princess?”

Cato shrugged. “I’m going to win because I’m the best,” he said. “There’s no ‘princess’ back home, but when I get back there will be lines of them. Men, too.”

Peeta rolled his eyes. “Don’t hurt yourself, now,” he said. “I’d hate to see you crushed by the weight of your own ego before the games even start.”

“Impossible,” Cato answered, yawning. “I can’t believe you told them I wanted to lock you in my room.”

“What did you expect me to say?” Peeta asked, searching for his crown. He’d need it for the photo shoot the next day. “That you threatened to kill me if I stepped wrong?”

“Well, no,” Cato smirked. “But you could have said something a bit sweeter.”

Peeta frowned as he got on his knees to check under the furniture. “I told them exactly what you told me. I just left off the part where you wanted to kill me for knowing anything in the first place.”

Cato laughed lightly. “You’re right. I did say that.”

“You forgot?”

“Wasn’t really thinking about it,” Cato said, his eyes dropping to half-mast as Peeta stood. He’d finally found the crown. “Expected you to make up some cute shit about love or make some joke about it. You know, like you usually do.”

“That’s not my usual,” Peeta warned. “That’s called getting sponsors to  _ like _ me.”

Cato rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Either get out of here or get back in bed. And if you get back in bed you better be wearing  _ only _ that crown.”

“Don’t worry, your highness,” Peeta simpered in a sarcastic tone. “I’m leaving.”

Cato watched Peeta start to leave, but stopped him at the door with a sharp call of Peeta’s name. “Tomorrow you’ll be in love with me,” Cato announced.

Peeta looked over his shoulder briefly. “No, I won’t,” he said. Then he left.

* * *

“Good morning my lovelies,” Effie greeted at breakfast. It was the day before the games would begin, and though it was supposed to be an afternoon of ‘rest’, the morning was going to be very busy. Peeta wasn’t looking forward to it. He’d made it to his room in the early hours of the morning, and even then sleep had been difficult. Now he was picking at his breakfast with barely a few hours of sleep under his belt, and he was sure he looked as bad as he felt.

“Now we have a big morning ahead of us, so we’ll need to be in top shape. Katniss, you’ll have the final demonstration this morning and then you’ll have a short photo shoot for the single images. Then you’ll have a few photos taken with Peeta for our District Twelve pair, and lunch will be served directly after. You’ll have the rest of the afternoon for yourself,” Effie told her, her cheerful tone giving the impression that these should be fun activities.

“Of course our  _ queen’s _ schedule will be a bit different,” Effie said, and Haymitch gave an almost choking sound. Peeta glared at his mentor, a bit offended at the poorly hidden laugh. “You and Cato will be the first two to demonstrate your skills, of course, and then you’ll be rushed to the photo shoot for the King and Queen of the tribute ball – so exciting!” Effie continued as if she hadn’t noticed.

Peeta grunted as he took a gulp of juice.

“That will probably last for a few hours, at least, and then you’ll have your single shots followed by your shots with Katniss,” Effie continued. “You’ll still have the afternoon off, of course, but we may need to squeeze in a few extra hours for the King and Queen shots, depending on how well the morning goes.”

“More hours with Cato,” Katniss growled, stabbing at her plate. “How exciting.”

“More hours with Cato with half the capital watching,” Peeta said, scowling. “And Cato acting like an arrogant ass who wants to get in my pants.”

“Didn’t stop you from coming in late last night,” Katniss noted.

“It’s better not to get on his bad side,” Peeta commented. “I can keep him away from you for as long as possible that way.”

“So you’re just giving yourself away so I have a chance?” Katniss asked snidely. “Some lover you are, whoring yourself out to any tribute who offers you anything.”

Effie made an offended sound, but Peeta just shrugged. “If I was whoring myself out I’d have to be giving something up,” he said. “I’m not having sex with Cato just to get you a few more days in the Arena.” Not  _ just _ for that, anyways. He also did it because it felt good and he hated feeling alone. Connecting with Cato had been a few moments without the threat of the Games over his head.

“Now that’s enough,” Effie said, her hands on her hips and looking greatly offended. “No more of that kind of talk. Finish your breakfasts before we go downstairs.  _ Quietly _ .”

* * *

“You look lovely, dear,” Portia said as she smoothed the white tank top on his chest. He was dressed in stylish miner pants, slung low on his hips and with suspenders hanging loose around his thighs, and a white sleeveless shirt with the number ‘12’ printed in large, black letters on the back. It was simple outfit, but Peeta was more worried about what it lacked: shoes, socks, and underwear.

“You sure I can’t wear boxers?” Peeta asked again. “Briefs, even?”

“Don’t be silly, darling. Besides, you haven’t time to change. Get in there – and remember! Always pose.” Portia winked at him briefly, then shooed him towards the door.

He went through to the other side where Cato was already waiting impatiently. Cato was dressed in a pair of white pants Peeta thought might be meant to remind everyone of Peacekeepers. Cato didn’t have a shirt, but Peeta guessed that was to show off all those strong muscles. He did have shoes, which was somehow irritating.

Suddenly a strip of black cloth was placed over his eyes and tied lightly behind his head. “Wait – Portia – what’s this?” Peeta asked, half reaching towards the fold.

The woman giggled and leaned against his back: “Just remember: always pose,” she whispered, and then pushed Peeta forward.

He half-stumbled towards the stage, reaching his hands in front of him blindly to ensure he didn’t run into something. When he went to take the blindfold off – there were  _ limits _ , darn it – hands wrapped around his wrists to stop him. “Don’t,” Cato said, close enough for Peeta to feel his warmth. “I like it.”

Peeta scowled and lifted his chin so he was ‘looking’ where he thought Cato’s face would be. “You would,” he muttered darkly. “I can’t see.”

“That would be the point of a blindfold, silly,” Cato said.

“More in the center,” the photographer said. “Cato, can you – yes, that’s right. Stay standing for a bit.”

Peeta felt Cato move to stand behind him, wrapping strong arms around from behind and keeping Peeta’s wrists trapped down below his waist.  Peeta allowed his arms to be pulled where Cato wanted them, and leaned his head back so it rested on Cato’s shoulder and exposed his throat. “I feel like I’m posing for a bondage poster,” he said, laughing a bit when warm breath ghosted over his throat. “What happens next? Chains and leather?”

“Nah,” Cato said. “We’ll save those for the bedroom.”

There were chuckles all around as Peeta bumped back against Cato in a way he hoped looked playful. “You brute,” he teased. “Keep up talk like that and people might start to think you’re not nice.”

“Who told you I was nice?”

Peeta smirked, lifting his head and turning his upper body. He hoped he was looking somewhere close to Cato’s face. “It is a general assumption.”

“You do a lot of assuming?” Cato asked.

Peeta, tired of being held captive, twisted his wrist free and bumped into Cato a bit harder. He slipped his foot behind Cato’s – Cato had shoes, darn it, why couldn’t he? – and did an awkward move his wrestling instructor had taught him to trip his opponents. Cato let go of him, but Peeta didn’t hear him thud against the ground. Instead he heard the other tribute laugh.

Peeta lifted the edge of the blindfold up and smirked at Cato, who had ended up sprawled across a couch Peeta hadn’t realized was there. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “I thought you were the big, bad brute.”

Cato hooked his hands in the suspenders and pulled them forward. Peeta yelped, dropping the blindfold to reach for his waistband. The blindfold slid down his face, balanced only on his nose and one ear, and he found himself looking into Cato’s hungry eyes. “Ummm…”

“That was an awful lot of skin showing,” Cato almost purred. His grip on the suspenders tightened. “Just what are you hiding under there?”

Peeta dared to reach up one hand up to pull the blindfold down around his neck, and then returned his grip to his waistband. “Nothing you need to see.”

“You gonna stop me?” Cato demanded.

Peeta let go of his waistband and leaned down so he could put his weight on his hands, boxing Cato in, and shifted so he could put one knee between Cato’s spread legs. The blindfold dangled from his neck, and Peeta wondered if he should have taken it off. He wasn’t very good at ‘posing’. “Do I need to?”

Cato’s hands were on Peeta’s hips now, the suspenders still held tightly in his hands. Then, suddenly, Peeta was under Cato and Cato’s lips were against his. Peeta arched up off the couch when one of Cato’s hands slipped beneath his waistband and the only thing he could think of was: so much for stuffy royalty photos.

* * *

“What’s this?” Katniss asked, picking up the printouts on the table.

“Oh, the images from the photoshoot!” Effie exclaimed, her heels clicking on the floor as she cheerfully hurried to Katniss’ side. “I’m sure they’re wonderful, of course, but I asked to see copies when they were available. Most years tributes aren’t interested – I have no idea why; who doesn’t like to have their picture taken? – but I’d hoped since we have a Queen this year you’d be more interested. Oh! Look, Haymitch – this is a good one of the pair of them.”

Peeta had put his Queen crown on Katniss, and she was scowling up at him while he had a soft smile on his face. She was wearing a dress which was black at the bottom, but changed to red flames as it rose up her torso. Her back and shoulders were bare, and Peeta had wondered how the dress stayed on. He’d been afraid to touch her in it, worried he might accidentally reveal more than she wanted. Peeta himself was dressed in black boots with pants that looked like flames rising up his legs. He was shirtless, but his chest had been covered with grey-white paint meant to look like smoke. It hadn’t smudged when Katniss touched it, even after he started sweating under the heat of the lights.

There were more photos, both of them together and individually, and Katniss flipped through them while Peeta started pulling together his lunch.

“We can use these to get sponsors,” Haymitch commented, snagging a few. “You’re a bit stiff, sweetheart, but you look good.”

“And Peeta? He just looks delicious here, doesn’t he?” Effie asked, showing off a few of Peeta’s individual shots. They began talking among themselves about the benefits of the photos and which ones should be promoted. Effie seemed more concerned with mass popularity and giving the ‘Effie stamp of approval’, but Haymitch was encouraging her. Peeta wasn’t sure if he should be happy or afraid.

“What about  _ this _ ?” Katniss snarled, and threw a picture of Cato and Peeta kissing on the table. Haymitch and Effie were too distracted by the other photos to notice the one Katniss had taken offense to.

Peeta swallowed. “We were just messing around.”

“You were  _ kissing _ ,” Katniss said, and her tone was definitely accusing. Peeta set down his sandwich, his appetite gone. “What else were you getting up to? Whoring yourself out again?”

“No! Of course not,” Peeta protested. “They liked seeing Cato and I kiss. It’s not like I planned the photos.”

“Not even this?” Katniss asked, turning around the photo of Peeta, blindfolded, wrapped in Cato’s arms and baring his throat.

“I-“

“You know what, don’t even bother,” Katniss snapped as she stood. “I don’t want to hear it.” She went into her bedroom and closed the door.

Peeta pushed his plate away. “I’m not hungry,” he said.

“What’s wrong?” Effie asked, then started looking through the photos scattered across the table. “Oh, you and the District Two boy – Cato, right?” She turned to Haymitch. “They look like such a lovely couple. So full of life!”

Haymitch was watching Peeta, however. “You better get your head in the game, boy, or you’re going to lose big time.”

“I think I’ve already lost,” Peeta admitted.

“Nonsense!” Effie said. “I won’t have that kind of poor talk from my tributes. These photos are very good, Peeta. But that doesn’t mean the King and Queen get better photographers than everyone else. It just means that you’re more photogenic! And your stylists know how to get just the right look for you.”

“Maybe I should just lay down,” Peeta said, tossing his napkin on the table.

“Oh, are you tired?” Effie asked. “But I already agreed that you would do a second photo session with the King this afternoon.”

“What?” Peeta asked, looking up at the strange-looking woman. “I thought you said the photos were good?”

“They are,” Effie assured. “That’s why they want more. Cato insisted. And, well, who would say no to more opportunities to showcase that lovely face of yours?” Effie smiled and fluffed up her scarf.

“It’s a good opportunity, kid,” Haymitch said, leaning back and taking a long sip from his flask. “You should take it. And eat. More flesh on your bones will help those first few days if the District Two boy doesn’t take you in.”

“You want me to appeal to Cato for an alliance?” Peeta asked.

“If you can,” Haymitch said, nodding. “Given the way you two lock mouths-“

“That was a mistake,” Peeta said. “I shouldn’t have-“

“You should,” Haymitch said. “He can help you a lot more than Katniss can. Without being elected Queen, Katniss would have a better chance. Her skills are better suited to the arena than yours are.” Haymitch was nothing if not honest. “But she’s got shit people skills, and the chance for an alliance with Cato – where you can both come out alive and you have one person you can trust at your back – makes you our best shot.”

“That leaves Katniss out in the cold,” Peeta said, shaking his head.

“The star-crossed lovers idea was a one in a million plan to begin with-“

“But it’s the truth,” Peeta hissed, standing and knocking his chair backwards. He began to pace, rubbing his arms. “I’m in love with her. What kind of world is it where lust is more attractive than love?”

“That’s the capital,” Haymitch said.

“Oh, don’t be so cynical,” Effie scolded, making her way to Peeta and giving him a brief hug. “It’s not that we favor lust over love, darling, but you and Cato have a spark that just isn’t there in the interactions you have with Katniss.”

Peeta shook his head. He didn’t want to talk about this, not when the games were less than a day away and chances were high he wouldn’t live through the week. “How long do we have before the photoshoot?” he asked.

“We need to be downstairs in a half hour, but you can head down whenever you finish eating,” Effie said. “We don’t want you to get a rumbly tummy with your King around!”

Effie giggled while Peeta sighed. “I’m fine, Effie. Let’s just go. Maybe they can start early.”

* * *

Peeta was in a suit this time, pure black to Cato’s white, with some sort of fancy cape to make him look like royalty. Cato was sitting on a throne, legs spread wide, and Peeta was on the floor between them, leaning back against the throne with one of Cato's legs on either side of him. There was a lot more direction this time, and being told where and how to sit. It felt similar to his first photos with Katniss: awkward and staged.

“What put you in a crappy mood?” Cato finally muttered, shifting behind Peeta.

“Nothing,” Peeta said as he fought the urge to keep his gaze on the floor by staring directly at the camera. “I'm just tired, I guess.”

Another long stretch of awkward poses. Peeta flinched when he saw Haymitch come into the room, but moved into position leaning against one of Cato's legs.

“I don't know what happened,” Portia was saying, fussing at Haymitch and looking worried. “He's looked pitiful all afternoon!”

Haymitch grunted, getting a calculating look in his eyes and not looking nearly drunk enough for as many times as he'd emptied his flask that morning. “He's probably still moping over-”

“Haymitch!” Peeta hissed. His fingers clenched into fists as his head shot up, his face halfway between a warning glare and a panicked frown.

“-the girl wonder calling him names,” Haymitch finished, not looking perturbed in the least.

“What's this now?” Cato asked. “You're upset over name calling?”

“He's just being stupid,” Peeta said, glaring at Haymitch as he settled back against Cato’s leg. He tried to ignore the hand in his hair as he said: “Ignore him. He's probably still drunk.”

“So you’re not upset?” Cato pressed. He didn’t sound like he believed a word of it.

Peeta stood and stormed towards the exit, taking his gloves off as he stated: “I’m done.”

But Haymitch was in his face before he was even halfway there. “You get your ass back over there,” Haymitch hissed in his ear, “or we’re screwed.”

“I hardly see how pictures of me with Cato are going to help,” Peeta bit back, keeping his voice down.

“That’s because you don’t see the big picture,” Haymitch countered, jabbing a finger into Peeta’s chest. “You’re a little baker boy from 12 who doesn’t understand the way the capital works, the way these people think, and you’ve got some pretty little idea in your head of the way things should be. Well guess what? That’s. Not. The way. It works. Either you get back over there and make nice with two or I go back to drinking real liquor.”

Peeta grit his teeth. The threat was a bad one; Haymitch would be their only supporter once they were in the arena, and the only one who could influence how their game went. Without him, both Peeta and Katniss would be alone against tributes with sponsors willing to pay to help them.

He turned back around, walked over to the throne, and leaned against the upright back of the chair.

“You still don’t look happy,” Cato commented. “What’s so bad it takes your mentor to keep you with an ally?”

“Can’t you guess?” Peeta snorted. “Katniss saw the pictures of us from this morning.”

It took Cato a moment to figure out why that was relevant. “She saw us kissing and you’re in love with her,” he almost laughed. “What’d she do, heroically give you up so you could spend your last days with the man of your dreams?”

“She called me a whore.”

It took Peeta a moment to realize even the photographers had gone silent. The entire room was staring at him.

“What?” he demanded. “Aren’t you supposed to be making us look good?”

“Oh dear,” Portia said glumly, fanning herself. “No wonder the poor dear’s been miserable.”

Peeta yelped as Cato yanked the standing boy into his lap, making the cape pull against Peeta’s throat horribly tight for a moment before the fabric snapped off. He grumbled as he tried to get comfortable, dropping the gloves somewhere, but when he looked up into Cato’s face he froze.

Cato looked furious.

“I’ll kill her first,” Cato said.

Peeta looked away. “No you won’t. It’s not that bad.”

“Not that-“

“It’s not the first time, okay. I just wasn’t expecting it.”

If anything Cato looked even angrier.

“They’re just words, Cato,” Peeta finally snapped, unable to stop himself from sneaking glances at that horribly angry face. “She doesn’t mean them. What do you care, anyways? She nearly lost Prim! Of course she’s not really thinking straight. Let me up. They wanted photos, not a wrestling session.”

One of Cato’s arms went over Peeta’s chest and the other behind his back to hold Peeta by the shoulder. He turned a fiery gaze to the camera and Peeta sighed, resting his head on Cato’s chest and turning so his face was angled toward the camera as well. “Whatever,” he finally said. The cameras were snapping more pictures, so he guessed he shouldn’t complain about the content. It wasn’t like he would be around for much longer to be offended by it, anyways.

“Brutus?” Cato called, and Peeta noticed the former victor hovering in the background. Apparently his job was to hold up the wall unless Cato needed a mentor. “What would it take to get Peeta to stay on District Two’s floor?”

“It doesn’t matter because I’m not staying with you,” Peeta said, pulling out of Cato’s hold enough to turn and face the other tribute with a glare. Peeta may have been smaller, but that did not mean he was ready to be pushed around. “I’m sleeping in District Twelve’s rooms.”

“Why? So you can listen to your sweetheart whisper in your ear until you’re ready to die for her?”

Peeta’s gaze narrowed. “I’m already willing to die for her,” he hissed. “A few kisses with you won’t change the fact that I’m in love with her.”

“Despite what she calls you?”

Peeta laughed. “You really don’t get it, do you?” he asked. “Of course you don’t. You think you’re going to win. And why not? You’re certainly strong enough to do it. You’ve got allies we haven’t. You probably grew up doing hard labor and training yourself to stay fit for the games, eager to volunteer. Want to know a secret, Cato?” He leaned in close. “Want to know what that salute at District Twelve’s choosing meant?” He leaned in even closer, to whisper directly into Cato’s ear: “We say farewell to those we expect never to return.”

He pulled away. This time when he left, Haymitch didn’t try to stop him. Cato called out his name, though, and Peeta paused to hear what he had to say. “You’ll figure out she isn’t good for you,” Cato told him. “She’ll stab you in the back, drag you through the mud, and you’ll let her.”

“I’m in love with her,” Peeta said.

“Tomorrow you’ll be in love with me,” Cato challenged.

“That’s what you said last night.”

Cato smirked. “But wasn’t that really this morning?”

Peeta shook his head, rolling his eyes. “You’re still wrong.” He tried to ignore the gossiping when he left, but he couldn’t help but worry about what would happen. Had he cursed Katniss, or helped her? Would he be speared through the heart the second the countdown ended now, with half the tributes just waiting to claim his life and restore balance to the games?

Or would Katniss be denied sponsors when she really needed them because she had called Peeta something so foul and vulgar it couldn’t be aired for the audience?

Peeta thought for a moment he might be sick, but there wasn’t enough food in his stomach to retch.

“Back already?” Katniss asked. She was on the couch with Effie watching (or rewatching, Peeta wasn’t sure) the tribute scores. Peeta knew he should be watching them himself, but decided to do so in his room alone.

Cato’s face flashed on the screen with a “9” next to it. “Katniss? No matter what you think of me, no matter what you think I’m playing, if you listen to absolutely nothing else I say to you, please remember this: tomorrow, when that count hits zero, you start running.”

Annoyance flashed on her face briefly, followed by curiosity. “Why?”

Peeta looked away from the screen and stared into her eyes for a moment. He’d loved her since he was little, since the very first time he’d heard her sing, but she had never shown him any love in return. He still loved her, and it stung that she wouldn’t even pretend to love him when her life was at stake. Even now he might say she was looking annoyed, or even disgusted, but there was no way he could even call her look friendly. Tolerating, maybe. “Cato’s furious,” Peeta finally said. “He declared he’d kill you first. I tried to talk him out of it, but he has no reason to listen to me.”

“What?” Katniss shouted, standing to look at Peeta more easily. “Why the hell would he do that?”

“Because your lover-boy over here decided to be sensitive to your feelings,” Haymitch said. Peeta hadn’t realized the older man had followed him up, but without any reason to stay downstairs it made sense. “That didn’t go over too well.”

“So now because we’re pretending to be in love Cato hates me?” Katniss sneered. “This was supposed to help us, not set other tributes against us!”

“And it may have worked,” Haymitch admitted, “if you knew even the slightest thing about being in love. You don’t. And everyone out there knows it. Now, I get it. You’re sixteen, Peeta’s sixteen, Cato’s sixteen, you’re all still young and figuring this stuff out. You’ve probably never been in love before. But sweetheart, you’ve got the people skills of a pickaxe and it shows.”

“So now this is all  _ my _ fault?” Katniss asked.

“Of course not,” Peeta said, trying to be reassuring. “I already told Cato you were in love with someone else. We run with that.” He shrugged and sat down at the table. “We create drama. You in love with Gale, me in love with you, and Cato in lust with me. It’s the sort of thing the capital eats up. Best of all, it’s true. No acting required.”

“So we just act like ourselves?” Katniss asked.

“Well,” Haymitch hedged. “You may want to act a bit more personably than yourself. Face it: you won’t have any allies in the arena. Neither of you will, after today.”

Katniss sat down and watched the screen, still playing the tribute scores, and Effie placed a hand on hers. “I promised Prim that I would try to win,” she finally said. “I can’t break that promise.”

“We’re not asking you to,” Haymitch said. “We’re trying to tell you how.”

“But what you say doesn’t make any sense!” Katniss ground out. “It’s nonsense! How does a love drama help me in the arena when the other tributes are going to come after me with swords and knives? Love isn’t some magical shield that will just appear when I need saving.”

“It’s alright,” Effie said, patting her hand. Peeta didn’t think it was helping; Katniss was scared. She had every reason to be frightened. “Come now, this is no way to spend your afternoon of rest! Let’s put on something cheerful and I’ll have dessert brought up. Ice cream sounds wonderful right now, doesn’t it?” Effie stood and went to request an Avox bring the desert up, leaving Katniss alone on the couch.

Peeta went to his room and laid down, but he couldn’t rest. He couldn’t help but think that tomorrow he would die.

* * *

The bloodbath was over, but Peeta still stood on his pedestal. He hadn’t moved since the countdown had ended, frozen in place with indecision. He had watched Katniss flee into the woods, grateful she had managed to snag a backpack of supplies even while he cursed her for taking the risk. If Cato had gone after her, Peeta would have gone after him. But he had let her run.

Cato finally made his way over to stand before Peeta, the pedestal giving Peeta just enough height that they could easily look each other in the eye. “You’re just going to stand there?” Cato asked.

“I wasn’t sure you’d still want me,” Peeta admitted. “I couldn’t decide if I should stay or run.”

“We’re going to kill tributes,” Cato told him.

“Yes,” Peeta agreed.

“We’re going to defend each other until we’re all that’s left.”

“Yes.”

“We’re going to  _ win _ .”

Peeta hesitated, choking a bit, and Cato’s eyes narrowed. He said again: “We’re going to  _ win _ .”

“Yes,” Peeta finally breathed out.

Cato smirked. “It’s tomorrow,” Cato said, moving close enough that he and Peeta were breathing the same air.

Peeta knew what question was coming. He’d been thinking about it half the night. Did he love Cato? Could he? He shouldn’t. He was in love with Katniss. He’d been in love with Katniss for as long as he could remember. She didn’t mean to hurt him; she was simply lashing out when she was scared. The odds were high that they were going to die in this arena and she knew that. He knew it too. He’d tried to talk to Haymitch about it and just ended up confusing the matter. 

Did he really want to die without loving someone who loved him back?

“Are you in love with me?”

There was really only one answer.


End file.
